


Refusal of Compliance

by liched



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Autistic Gerard Keay, Fix-It of Sorts, Gerard Keay Lives, Hospitals, Mary Keay's A+ Parenting, Mentions of Cancer, Nonbinary Gerard Keay, Trans Gerard Keay, there's a gertrude mention and an unamed doctor he talks with- not really character tag worthy imo, this fool is so traumatized and it shows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26794573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/liched/pseuds/liched
Summary: Gerry really didn’t know what he was doing. Sitting on the floor of some dingy hotel in America, the Archivist in the room over. He had no fucking idea what got his life to that point.Or, Gerry thinks over his situation and makes a decision that changes the course of his life.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 31





	Refusal of Compliance

**Author's Note:**

> important notes:  
> 1) i DONT know how hospitals or cancer works so i just. did some research and this is a poor attempt at doing it accurately.  
> 2) theres talk about health, vaccines, and gerry's cancer. he also has a bit of a breakdown/sensory overload! warning just in case!  
> 3) my gerry is fat and doesnt bind. just so you know.

Gerry really didn’t know what he was doing. Sitting on the floor of some dingy hotel in America, the  _ Archivist _ in the room over. He had no fucking idea what got his life to that point.

Well, logically, he remembers the events that led up to this. But through his pounding, ever persistent headache, he’s doing really too much thinking in hypotheticals. What would he have done, for example, if Gertrude hadn’t assisted him. What would he have done if his mother failed her becoming. What would he have done if burning his mother’s page hadn’t ended her. What, what, what? How, when, why, where. The questions piling up in his already stuffed mind make him groan and slide down to lay on the floor. He knows that’s not going to improve his situation, but to him, if he died right now it would be welcome. 

No, he thinks, a swift release would ultimately be the way to go, but. He’s got so much to do. Him and Gertrude are so  _ close _ to finding something. He can feel it, he can sense it. Something is close. If he could focus for more than a second on anything but the rattling pain in his head he may be able to have any ideas as to what could be coming.

A sharp pain shoots through his head, the back left. It leaves him with a spasm, and he curls up into himself more. For the first time in a while, a coherent thought makes its way through his head.

_ Maybe I should see a doctor. _

He stares at his hands. He stares at the shitty, tearing wallpaper of his hotel. He stares at his boots stacked by the door. They’re untied, open, perfect to lace up and get  _ out _ of here. He- does he owe anything to Gertrude? Is he really bound to her just because she  _ burned _ something for him? Does he really need to keep putting his ass on the line at every turn, doing the hard work, being Gertrude’s personal map and guidebook to finding the circus in America? 

_ Yes.  _ He thinks, defeated.  _ I’m trapped. In another little orbit. I… _   
  


Another pain shoots through him. He groans, getting up to heave himself onto the bed and think. Laying on a bed may set him straight, he thinks, hoping to crush the growing doubt of his situation in his mind.

Logistically, he knows he can do whatever he wants. He’s nearly 30. A grown person. Able to think, act, and move for himself. Yet… he’s questioning everything. He couldn’t leave Mary, no matter how hard he tried or how much he hoped to. She was everywhere. She was inescapable, in life and death. Even in her second death. Gerry thinks about his mother more often than he’d like to admit, more often than a grown person should probably think about their mum. 

  
But.

  
But, Gertrude is different. He doesn’t trust her, sure, she reminds him of his mother, yeah, but she’s ultimately a different person. Who’s to say she even gives a shit about him? Who’s to say she’d chase him if he made his grand escape? If he took care of himself for once in his god damn life and went to a _doctor?_   
  
He grabs his hair in his hands, tugging at it, twisting it around his hands in a nervous motion. He’s really thinking about cutting the cord, abandoning ship and just. Leaving. It scares him to no fucking end, but it’s also the first promise of freedom he’s seen in a while. In this moment of bravery, he should seize it. In this one, singular moment he’s allowed himself to consider change he will _grasp it._

So he does.   
  


Letting go off his hair, he pushes himself back off the bed, balancing himself on the frame. He tip-toes over to his shoes. He knows Gertrude can’t hear him, but the principle of it all doesn’t let him just stride over there. He has to be secretive, or Gertrude will find out. He doesn’t know how, but she will. Maybe some fucked up Beholding shit, he doesn’t know. Still. He laces up boots. Quiet as a god damn  _ mouse. _

He grabs his ratty old backpack with the shit he took. Just some clothes, an old MP3 player, and a tiny sketchbook with some shitty pencils. He darts his eyes around the room, nabs the toiletries in the bathroom (including some towels- can you blame him? He’s officially on the run) and darts to the door as quietly as he can. Slowly, silently, unlocking the door, locking it back, and speeding down the stairs and down the nearest road.

Once he feels he’s out of hearing distance of Gertrude, he bolts. He runs as far and as fast as his legs will take him. Ultimately, not very far, but he feels satisfied. The hotel isn’t in sight. Tears come to his eyes, threatening to spill, he’s so overcome with relief. 

He takes a second to ground himself and remember his plan. It’s about 8PM, but there’s bound to be an open hospital nearby right? ...You go to hospitals when you’re concerned about health, right? There’s no other steps he doesn’t know about right? There’s no unspoken passed down rules about hospitals, right? Would a clinic be the right place to go? What even is a clinic, really? Do clinics have doctors? Is this pain even a big enough concern for medical attention? Is- Is- Is… He’s working himself into a state thinking he’s got something wrong, but he just. Decides to push it down. Ignores it. Resolves to go to a hospital, and fuck it, if he’s wrong, he’ll lie about having an immediately threatening condition. He could… stab himself in an alleyway to get some help if it came that far. Gerry is incredibly desperate at this point.

He’s formulating exactly what he’ll say, the exact responses to questions he may be asked, when he makes his way into a city. He thinks him and Gertrude were supposed to investigate this place tomorrow, so he’ll have to be careful or skip town tomorrow. Gerry walks down the street, avoiding cracks in the pavement, meandering his way down roads and through bends and alleys to make his way to. Somewhere. He has no idea where the hospital is, but he’s always had good intuition so he’s sure he’ll stumble upon it.

And he does. Some random, fuck-off hospital in a random, fuck-off city. He gets stares when he stumbles into the emergency room. He’s not even wearing many spikes, but being a fat man in a skirt will get you glares anywhere, he guesses. He doesn’t ponder on their stares for long, because everything is so white, so blinding. His headache only gets worse; bright lights are sensory  _ hell _ . He grimaces and walks up to the woman at the desk. He towers over her, but he tries to make himself as small as he can, wrapping his arms around himself and slouching.

Their exchange is a short one: Gerry details his pounding headache and other symptoms, the nurse looks at him with concern, and tells him a doctor will be with him shortly if he could just take a seat. He sits far away from any other patients, covering his eyes with his hands, trying to block out as much noise and light as he possibly can. It’s difficult, but the doctor does come rather quickly, so he doesn’t have to attempt for long. 

The exchange they have is concerning, to say the least. Gerry has to take a neurological exam, which he thoroughly fails, and is promptly sent for an MRI. His hearts pounding during the test. He has a vague idea of what's going on, but so much has happened in the past hour or so and his head is pounding  _ so. Damn. Hard. _ He can’t focus, the lights are blinding, and he’s completely alone. Once he’s secluded in a room, with all his piercings back in, he sobs. Head in his hands, pounding, the light cutting into him like knives, he lets it all out. He can feel his days old mascara and eyeliner in the tears that soak into his hands. It's odd, it’s sticky, and it’s the icing on the stale disgusting cake. The tears come harder, which makes him feel even more gross, even more in sensory  _ hell,  _ harder to breathe, harder to think, harder to exist.

He’s got his arms wrapped around his legs and his head buried in his knees when the doctor comes back in. She looks shocked, for a moment, then puts on a sympathetic smile and looks at him.

“Ah- Gerard, I understand this is really hard. This news is sudden, and quite scary. Do you have anyone you can call? We can bring family or-”

She’s cut off with a small hitch in breath from Gerry, who buries his head into his knees further.

“I don’t have anyone. There’s no one. Uhm,” he speaks into his knees, not looking at his doctor. He has no energy to attempt normal social interaction, so tired and upset and in  _ pain.  _ He squeezes his legs harder.

“Is there a hotel nearby I can stay at for the night? I’m- I’m guessing I can’t stay in the hospital, and you said we have to wait about a day for the MRI results, uh. Anything around.”

“That’s what I came in here to inform you about, actually. We think part of your symptoms may also be caused by a rather severe case of dehydration. I personally didn’t pick up on it, as I simply attributed them to more cancer symptoms, but you’re going to need to stay the night so we can hook you to some intravenous fluids, and check on you regularly. You’ve got… a lot of things going on, at the moment.” She walks over to Gerry and pats him on the head. He looks at her with his red face, swollen eyes, black tear tracks. She gives an almost imperceptible grimace and signals for him to follow her to a room. He trudges behind her, slouched, hair covering his face like a curtain. Once in the room, Gerry immediately flops onto the bed and rubs at his eyes. The doctor looks at him, tired and aching on the bed, and strides off to get an IV pole. 

He sighs with relief when she’s gone, removing his boots and tossing them to the side. He throws his jacket onto the side table and flicks off the lamp. There’s still the overhead light, but it’s not as glaring in here, so he figures he can deal with it until the doctor returns with the IV. He pads over to the bathroom and splashes water on his face. He takes in his reflection. Gerry looks kind of disgusting at the moment. Pitch black marks all over his face, hair like a rats nest, puffy eyes… he definitely looks like he just had a breakdown. Sighing, he wets his hands to scrub the black marks off his face. He’s partially successful, but the doctor comes back in before he can finish. 

She pokes around the corner, and waves him back over to the bed. Even though he’s a good foot taller than her, he feels like the smallest thing in the world. He feels like, if he were to sink into bed, he would be enveloped by the sheets and live a life in The Buried. He doesn’t know if he’d object to that, at the moment. An escape from everything. A swift release from the real world. From bad textures, blinding lights, the Institute,  _ Leitners, _ everything. 

He must’ve been staring at the bed for too long because by the time he’s mustered enough strength to crawl in, the doctor is poking him on the arm, gesturing to the bed. He hums in acknowledgement and lays down. When she inserts the IV, he looks away, grimacing.

“You know,” she quips, “I would’ve thought a man with this many tattoos wouldn’t be too scared to look when he’s getting an IV inserted.”

“Tattoos and medical procedures are  _ different,  _ y’see? I know what tattoos are like. I know how they feel, and that they don't go into my veins, it’s just art on my skin.” He sucks in a breath as he feels the IV move around a bit. “With an IV… I haven’t ever seen one til today. I don’t know how they work, y’know- uh, you don’t really see people walking around with these poles on the street now do you?”

“Yeah, that does make sense. Your lack of medical attention is a bit concerning, though. You sure you’ve never been to a doctor?”

“Christ, no. The only medical attention I’ve gotten was my mum teaching me how to sew stitches when I was a kid.” He gives a small, humorless chuckle. He pauses for a moment. “Oh. I’ve never had vaccines. Uh, is that a thing that has to happen before continuing on? To my understanding, they’re rather important? I- don’t know if I’ll really have enough, for, uh, that though.” He looks sheepish, staring at where his hand is playing with the blanket.

The doctor almost blanches at that, inquiring, “You’ve- you’re nearly 30, yeah? No vaccines? No medical attention? No check-ups?”

“Well, I did go to a hospital for the burns back in… 2012? 2011? Genuinely do not remember. I think I may have gone to a clinic for a stab wound like, 20 or so years ago too as well? Neither of the people I’ve known were quite big on, uh, traditional methods of recovery.”

The doctor takes a moment. This man is a fucking medical cryptid. She really hopes the MRI results come back with good news because if this guy dies before she can fully get him vaccinated she’ll never be the same. Gerry looks at her, waiting for a reply. She sucks in a breath, resolved to not break.

“I- well. Okay. Sure, that’s fine. You don’t need to be vaccinated for us to perform surgery if it comes to that, and if you have to do chemotherapy you’re going to have to wait til it’s over to get vaccines. But you’ve lived long enough without vaccines, so you can probably weather another year or two, dontcha think?” She tries to make her reply light because he looks  _ so  _ tired. She wants to make something easy, nice, simple for him because she can feel that his life is just battle after  _ battle. _

Gerry takes in what she said and the look on her face, too tired to decipher what her expression means, and gives a small huff of a laugh.

“S’pose I could. Uh, is there anything else you need to do? I’d really like to have the lights shut completely off and pass the hell out, if that’s fine with you.”

“Oh yeah, of course. A nurse will probably be sent to come check on your IV sometime at night, so if someone’s in here don’t be too scared, alright? I’ll shut everything off and go now, you have a nice night sweetie.” She leaves, flicking the lights off on her way out.

Gerry sighs in relief, sinking deeper into the bed. He stops for a moment, sits up, and takes his tank top and sports bra off, tossing them in the general direction of the bedside table. He sighs, comfortable, and as soon as he rests his head on the pillow he’s out cold. 

Sometime in the night, well past midnight, he rouses for a moment. A moment of panic sets through his body until he remembered the events of the last couple hours of yesterday. Upon calming down, he realizes the absurdity of this situation he’s got himself into. He’s finally escaped, finally gotten  _ out.  _ He could live a good,  _ normal _ life. He’d still be involved with the entities, obviously, he can’t stop protecting people from those horrors, but he could be free from being in a person’s shackles. He could make friends. He could get more involved in the scenes he enjoys, could read for  _ fun _ rather than for  _ Mary,  _ could fall in  _ love. _ But. He might be dead. Right when he finally gets out, he’s probably got cancer. He’d give a small laugh at his situation if he wasn't half asleep. How cruelly ironic of the world to push him towards The End right when he’s found a new beginning?

As he falls back into his slumber, he hopes with his whole heart that the cancer isn’t immediately life-threatening. That he can get surgery, have to do some therapy, and that’s all. No strings attached. No entity interferences. No  _ death. _ He refuses to submit to death.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed!! i may write more of this but i dont know i just cranked this out in one sitting bc i had an idea. i also dont know how cancer recovery really looks so lmao,, thatd be difficult. anyway! thanks for reading:-]


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